


Free

by forest (Mendax)



Category: Kagaku Ninja Tai Gatchaman | Science Ninja Team Gatchaman
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-14
Updated: 2012-12-14
Packaged: 2017-11-21 02:21:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/592371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mendax/pseuds/forest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Blackbird captain gets his chance to take on Gatchaman. Written a long time ago. Note that I chose not to use Archive warnings, but do expect to find violence and bad language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Free

Gio’s thumb flicked at the closure to the holster he wore at his side. Open, shut. Open, shut. He wasn’t given to fidgeting, but he enjoyed the effect it had on the mecha captain. The fat fool was pale and sweating behind his mask, visibly trying -- and failing -- to ignore the tiny gesture. Open. ... Shut. Hard to believe this coward had risen so high. Gio wondered how many cocks he’d had to suck to get where he was and made an involuntary face at the image. The captain looked like he might wet himself in reaction.

They were fortunately interrupted by the comm screen flicking to life, a breathless messenger there. “Sir! We have confirmation. The Kagaku Ninja Tai are coming!”

“Understood.” The captain turned from the view screen. He was still afraid -- he trembled and stank with it -- but there was a malicious glint in the look he directed at Gio. “Katse-sama will wish to speak to you. Assemble your men.”

Gio kept his expression still, but his blood ran colder. Katse-sama. He had never met him, but everyone knew of Katse’s madness, his unpredictability, his cruelty. Everyone knew, but no one spoke. He lifted his chin arrogantly. “My men are assembled.”

No sooner had he spoken the words than they became truth, black-winged figures appearing as if from air, silent and swift. One brushed against the captain as he passed into formation, making the man jump away with a startled cry, closer to Gio, who grinned and stepped closer yet so when the captain turned, he was right there. The captain yelped, knees nearly buckling, and the assembled Blackbirds laughed mockingly.

The captain scrambled back. “Go ahead, laugh!” he cried, spit flying from his lips in his agitation. “Do you think I don’t know what happened the last time one of you little flocks faced Gatchaman? The same will happen to you. You’re all going to die!”

Gio closed his fist around the man’s neck and leaned over him. “Since you can see the future, captain, tell me. When I hand Katse-sama the head of Gatchaman, will he give me yours for it?”

“A bargain!” A new voice rang out loudly. _Katse_. Gio released the captain and bowed, heart jackhammering.

The captain prostrated himself, face pressed into the floor. “Katse-sama,” he gasped.

Katse ignored him, striding into the room and examining the ranks of Blackbirds. “Ah my pretty, pretty birds.” He ran a purple-gloved hand along the shoulder of one of them, singing, _“Sing a song of sixpence...”_ before cutting off with a mysterious curve of his glossy lips and coming to stand before Gio.

He was tall. His chin was at eye level, and Gio figured that was a safe enough place to look. “Katse-sama.”

“So, commander, the head of Gatchaman is the dish you would place before the king?”

Gio did not understand the reference, but nodded immediately. “Yes, Katse-sama.”

“He killed a dozen Blackbirds single-handedly, yet you think you can promise me this?”

Gio looked up then, dared to meet Katse’s mad eyes. “Yes.”

“What makes you so certain?” Katse purred, trailing a finger down Gio’s chest, leaving a shivering chill in its wake.

Gio did not flinch. “Because I could do the same.”

***********

The ground trembled under the impact of the missiles from the distinctive blue and red ship of the Ninja Tai, but the strong doors that concealed the mecha’s subterranean base deep in the valley held. Gatchaman was going to have to come out of his little plane if he wanted to pursue further, and when he did, Gio and his team would be there.

_Papa_ , he thought, _today I kill Gatchaman for you_. Katse could have his trophies, his worlds. Gio just wanted the victory; just wanted to prove...

The ship made a low pass and four figures flew from the dome that opened on its top, down toward the base doors. Eagle, Condor, Swan, gaudy little Swallow. Gio gave the signal and dove off the cliff’s edge, arrowing straight for the tall figure in white wings. Below him, Blackbirds with lower vantage points leapt to battle, a flurry of black wings outnumbering their opponents six to one, yet Gio held no illusions. He only hoped they lasted long enough for him to finish the Eagle.

He landed, shoving aside the black figure facing his opponent. Less than a moment to take his measure, whites gleaming blinding bright and splash of blood red, and for that split-second, Gio felt a stab of doubt. Flawless, the Eagle, untouchable. He _felt_ it. Flashed his teeth grimly. “You’re mine, Gatchaman,” he promised.

Hard to tell behind that visor, the way it caught the sun, but he thought the other man rolled his eyes. Gatchaman did not waste time with repartee though, just attacked with such speed Gio heard the air whistle past as he barely evaded the blow. Dodged another, then met the third, the impact sending both men crashing apart.

Gio felt a strange, almost hysterical laugh escape his lips. Relief. Not that he’d really believed the stories, but .... “White shadow my ass,” he grated, “Seem pretty solid to me.” Solid was good. Solid bled, and solid died.

He was sure of the reaction this time, saw lips twitch in brief, sharp amusement as the Eagle settled into perfect defensive form. Waiting, as if to say, _Okay then, show me what you’ve got._ Gio was only too happy to oblige.

**********

It couldn’t last. One of them would falter and that would be it. The smallest slip would be death, but it wouldn’t be him who slipped. He knew it. Could feel the whispered certainty rushing through his veins like that perfect moment during sex when orgasm became inevitable. He’d never fought so well. He knew every move the Eagle would make, and if the Eagle seemed to know what he would do as clearly, well, that just made it sweeter. There was no meaning in defeating an enemy who was not your equal. Gio had never faced an equal. It was exhilarating.

And that was the part that made him wish, in some small way, that it _could_ last. That Gatchaman could match him, and they could battle until the world crumbled around them, until they were swallowed into hell, and continue even then. Because he _knew_ his opponent. He could feel it in the air around him. Joy. As wide as the skies, gleaming like those white wings in the sunlight, the same joy Gio felt. An enemy worth fighting. He understood the secret of Gatchaman, understood the stories, what inspired the fearful whispers throughout Galactor ranks. That understanding was going to bring about the Eagle’s death.

And then ... he almost faltered. They were grappling, hard and tight and precise because neither could give a finger of advantage, and then the angle shifted and he saw clearly past the Eagle’s visor. Young face through that blue tint; as young as his own but looking younger yet, all smooth and open ... and blue eyes. Blue beyond the tint. Impossible blue. Blue like the sky never was except in those most secret dreams of cold air and freedom and flying without wings, without the black and crimson fetters of Galactor binding you.

Gio flung himself back, tore free of Gatchaman’s grasp, heart hammering in his throat. Close. Too close; he’d nearly fallen. He heard his Blackbirds dying around him.

It couldn’t last.

It was only a heartbeat and the battle was rejoined. Flawless still, aching and perfect. Gio was still certain that he would be the one to end it. Certain right up until agony exploded through his chest.

*********

The Blackbird staggered, fell forward, and it was reflex to catch him. Dead weight. Ken knew it wasn’t a bluff, knew you couldn’t fake the gracelessness of having your life ripped out of you by a metal slug. The Blackbird’s fingers clenched at his chest, his birdstyle too fitted for them to find purchase.

“Too bad,” the deep, whisky voice was halting, thick with pain and angry regret. “Now we’ll never know.”

The body slumped even heavier under his hands, and Ken lowered it to the ground, looking up at the approaching Condor, gun still in his hand. Ken stood, stifling an unreasonable rage. Always cold and pragmatic, Michael would never understand, even if Ken could explain it. He’d had a shot and taken it. It was the right thing to do.

“That was the last one,” Michael said with a token glance at the body, blood now seeping through the wings, the ugly black mimicry of their birdstyles. “G3 and G4 have found a way into the installation.”

Right. On to destroy the mech, save the world. He followed the Condor’s dark silhouette, but couldn’t help glancing back at the body on the ground. He was confident he would have won, but ... _Now we’ll never know_.

He found himself desperately wanting to know.

********

Benito Asakura sent the message with shaking fingers, eyes blurred with tears. His contact. His escape from Galactor at last, a decade after he and Rosa decided to defect with their young son but missed their window; a decade after Giorgio was taken into training and defection became impossible. Giorgio was a hostage for his parents’ continued cooperation. Unknowing, unwittingly becoming the best killer this murderous organization had. Giorgio, with his temper and his stormy eyes and his grief when Rosa died. Giorgio, mentioning his accomplishments in that awkward, offhanded way that meant he wanted to be told he was doing well. But what father could praise his son for becoming a killer? It was all Benito could do to hide his revulsion, to continue unwillingly aiding Galactor to keep his son alive.

And now his son was dead. Rosa was dead. There was nothing keeping him here, no more dagger to hold at his throat. He was free, but it no longer mattered.


End file.
